


Light and Darkness

by Ms_Julius



Series: SINF-week 2 [1]
Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: M/M, SINF Week, SINF Week 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Julius/pseuds/Ms_Julius
Summary: We all struggle to find balance. Some find it easier than others.





	Light and Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> First part of the SINF-week 2, prompt being "Light and Darkness"

“It’s too hot. I feel like I am about to roast in these clothes!”

A young man with leather boots smirked, setting his makeshift kite down as he sat beside the tall, stone-faced Italian. “Well, I did tell you to just put on a T-shirt and shorts, but apparently appearance is more important to you than comfort.” He pushed his wide-brimmed hat further to allow him a view to his companion’s eyes. “We could always leave. No point in staying if you’re not feeling up to it.”

A slender hand brushed againts his forehead. “No, amore. We may stay, I was merely complaining out of boredom. This isn’t exactly how I used to spent my freetime in the past. I find the art of relaxing quite challenging time to time.”

Billy the Kid smiled. Never had he guessed that Niccolò would be the first one to grow tired of their peaceful day in the park, where the sun had glimbed to the very highest point, spreading its light and warm all over the greenish landscape. There were trees offering some shelter but despite the shadowy spots here and there at the lawn, the heat was undeniably raw to a bare skin. Wearing long-sleeved shirts and black, formal pants had proven to be a mistake as well, as was shown by the drops of sweat at his lover’s neck and face. A comical sight, perhaps, but an unwelcomed one this time.

“I could always arrange you some action, but I doubt those parents over there would appreciate if I’d jump on you in front of their innocent kids”, Billy said, leaning closer while letting his hand cares the knee of the other man. “Althought I am willing to risk it if it’ll keep you here a while longer.”

Niccolò swatted the wandering hand off, glancing quickly at the direction of the playground not too far from them. A couple of families were chatting among themselves, the children running and jumping in the colorful fortress assembled in the middle of clay court. Some of them had a ball with them, and judging from the high-pitched screams there were a minor dispute going on. 

“As much as I enjoy our “activities” in private, I would prefer you kept your hands to yourself when we are in public.”

A shade of pink spead across Billy’s cheeks, and with a huff he settled back onto the blanket. “Hypocrite. You were the one to groped me the last time we were at the supermarket. But yeah, I can tune it down a bit if it bothers you. Wouldn’t want to get kicked out of the park, now would we?”

The wind carried out the bright voices from the playground once again, making Machiavelli look towards them. It seemed that they had solved whatever argument they’d had, and were now playing a game similar to common soccer, except they were missing goalies. 

Billy noticed his gaze, glancing at the kids himself. “They are so energetic at that age, don’t you think? Where could I get me some of that?”

Amused, Machiavelly snorted and turned around to raise an eyebrow to his partner. “Believe me, you don’t need any more energy in your veins! Sometimes I wonder if we could power the whole house by having you bouncing around the backyard.”

“Well, you should’ve seen me in my pride, old man. When I was seven, my parents were sure I was possessed or had some god-awful disease that caused me to jump and run all over the place. Funny how those skills came in handy when I started my breathtaking career as a wanted outlaw.” He pushed his hat further back. “Although I must admit it is nice to take it ease nowadays. Had my fair share of adventures if you ask me.”

Their chat was interrupted by flying green ball. With an impressive force, the projectile smacked into Billy’s head, leaving behind a vivid red mark and a shrieking young man. Machiavelli couldn’t held back his laughter, lifting his hand to cover up his mouth as he tried to help his companion up from the grass where he had landed.

As they were getting up, a group of children came rushing in. One of the boys had a revealing blush on his face.

“I am so sorry mister, are you okay? Timmy didn’t look where he kicked it, and -”

Holding his hand up, Machiavelli cut off the little girl’s apology. “He is alright, young lady, thank you for asking. In fact, I think the hit might have knocked some sense into my moaning friend over here. Damage could have not be done since his intelligence wasn’t all that impressive to begin with.”

The kids giggled, glancing at each other and peering curiously at the funny-looking man now sitting upwards on the lawn, glaring at the older man. “Haha, Mac, hilarious. Why not pursue a standup while you’re at it.” He pushed himself off the ground and was faced with an ocean of unblinking eyes staring up at him. “And hello to you too, I guess. Which one of you was the champ who shot that cannonball at me?”

The small, redfaced boy, whose named evidently was Timmy, stepped forward. He was shaking slightly. 

“It was me, sir. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

Billy kneeled down, rubbing his stubble with his hand. “Well, for what it’s worth, it was quite a kick.” He smiled casually and reached to pick up the ball lying next to him. “But your aim could still use a bit of work, mate. Next time it might hit someone who is not as strong and husky as me.”

“As husky as a praying mantis”, muttered Machiavelli, rolling his eyes. Billy made a point to ignore him as he handed the ball back to the boy, still smiling. 

“When I was about your age, I used to suck at aiming too.” He carefully left out the fact that it was not a ball he had been “shooting” in his days. “Then I learned a neat trick to help me with it. I could show you guys if you want”, he said with a smirk.

Staring eyes began to glimmer, and Billy knew they were hooked. Sitting back down onto the grass, he gestured to the kids to sit too, forming a little circle around him. Machiavelli stood further away, trying to conceal his interest.

“Now”, he started, “we must all focus really hard, okay? You can close your eyes if you want.” Immediately children squeezed their eyes closed, faces sternly serious and solemn.

“Then we cup our hands and lift them up, like so”, he continued, raising his own hands above his lap. Kids peeked quickly behind their lids and followed. 

“When you start to feel warmth in your palms, open your hands and point your fingers in front of you. You should see a line of light.”

From around him he could hear gasps and whoops, his apprentices obviously succeeding in their efforts. He felt his own palms starting to glow, and with a swift sweep of a wrist he casted the energy circling his hand forward, allowing it to take shape. 

“Wow, yours is much brighter than mine, that’s so cool mister!” the girl said, watching with an awe as the spear of light shot from his hand. 

Scrathing the back of his head, Billy grinned at her. It was not often that he got to show off his talents in public without having to worry about upsetting people, but these were kids. They still believed in magic, even if their parents had already told them that it belonged in fairytales or children’s rhymes. 

“Glad you like it. It is not that hard when you’ve practiced as long as me.” He shifted his weight to his knees, still keeping his arms in front of him. “I can tell you all a little secret if you promise me you won’t tell anyone, yes?”  

A silent giggle was his answer, but honestly, even if the children told their parents about what they had just seen, it would be dismissed with a wave of a hand. Adults were not too observant when it came to magic, unlike kids who believed and embraced every bit of it. It was fun to share his minor knowledge about the aura magic with these young minds, even if he couldn’t stick around to see how many of them actually took the experience in heart. But by the looks of it, at least the talkative girl and the redfaced boy were enchanted by the arrow of light dancing at their fingertips. Now Billy understood why Niccolò had agreed to guide him with his own magic. It was rather rewarding to see the look on someone’s face when they performed the act of enchantment for a first time. It was more than rewarding. It was captivating.

“So, next time you try to kick that ball, you can visualise the light line in your mind by focusing intensively. It can help you track the target you wanna aim for”, Billy said, glancing at the little boy next to him. Timmy nodded, still blushing but clearly more confident than before. Brushing the grass off his jeans, the cowboy got up and tipped his hat. “But I’m afraid that’s about all trick I could show you guys. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to continue my playdate with this other gentleman here, and I am sure you youngsters have a game to finish.” 

That earned him a storm of laughter and waved goodbyes, some of the children visibly reluctant to leave but eventually their friends managed to drag them back to the soccer field where they started to play again. This time there were inexplicable flashes of light during the most hectic moments of the game, but the sun covered them up nicely.

“You just teached to a crowd of unknown children how to use their auras in a public central park with dozens of people there to see.” Machiavelli sat down, shaking his head slightly. “Not to mention encouraging them to show it off without a hint of discreet. Well done, now we just have wait until their parents find out and sent them off to a psychologist.”

Billy glanced at him, frowning. “Come on, it’s not like their folks pay attention to stuff like this. Adults can be real thick when talking about magic and auras. Heck, you once brought the stone statues of Notre-Dame to life and even that didn’t set off any alarms in people’s minds. They don’t want to see it, ergo, they  _ won’t _ see it. And if they do, they sure as hell ain’t gonna admit it to the other grown ups.”

A non commential sniff was his only answer. They sat a while in silence, just listening to the howling of a wind and bird’s singing. It was a magnificent day indeed, the air swarming around them and the lightbolts from his earlier lesson still lingering near to their picnic blanket.

“But just so you know”, Machiavelli finally said, eyes turned towards the lush grass mat, “I do enjoy seeing you performing light magic. It is a beautiful sight.”

What a praise, not too common coming from a stone-cold Italian. Billy didn’t have an answer to that, so he cocked himself against Machiavelli’s bony shoulder and allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

The remaining ribbons of light twisted themselves around their linked hands.

* * *

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Machiavelli had locked himself in the library five hours ago, and Billy was growing restless. It was not uncommon for his partner to immerse into a study of auras for longer periods of time, but this time he had not come out at all, skipping meals and even forgetting their planned trip to a little antique store near their current house. They’d been talking about going for a solid week now, and it irked Billy a bit that the older man had abandoned their plans with such ease. Especially since  _ he  _ had been the one to pursue Billy into agreeing, not the other way around.

A loud bang in otherwise silent house was what woke him from his thoughts, a slight tremor causing an old vase to drop from its place on a high shelf. The pieces were left into their own devices as Billy jumped over them, rushing to the stairs leading to the basement where their (or rather Machiavelli’s) library was located.

The stony stairs were uneven at best, dangerous at worst. His ankles buckled three times before he got a hold of a railing drilled inside of the concrete walls, his hand now squeezing firmly as he made his way to the end of the treacherous staircase. There were no windows, and the only source of light was a shaking light bulb hanging from a power line. When thinking about the condition of the steps, it was far from offering enough light for him to see. But he had passed through here many times before, and the route was burned in his mind as he ignored two storage doors and stopped in front of a carved oak door.

The entry was locked, as expected. With a frustrated sigh, he went to the opposite wall and kneeled down, tapping the bricks at the lower corner with his knuckles. Fourth one from the bottom clicked, and as he pulled it off, a large key fell from the hole, chinking as it hit the ground. The key was placed there by Machiavelli himself to act as a precaution so that Billy would always have a way to unlock the door in case of an emergency.

While pushing the key into the lock, the cowboy tried to listen if there were more sounds coming from behind the door. Everything was silent, but he could still sense the strong aura of his companion, and the serpentic scent twirling around the basement. It took him a bit of effort, but he managed to push the door open, looking with an astonishment the scenery spreading in front of him.

Machiavelli was lying face down at the wooden workbench, a pale hand holding onto a goblet made out of gold and filled to the brim with dark, thick liquid. The smell of a rattlesnake hanged in the air. Billy couldn't say for certain, but it looked like he had a flesh wound at his brow.

“Niccolò! What the hell?” Billy called out, stumbling across the floor littered by old strips of parchment and moldy books from centuries ago. The room’s walls were covered with high bookshelves, but the items normally set to the oaken boards were now thrown all over the library’s carpets, the ancient artifacts smashed into the bits. Candles were blown out, leaving the space dark and ominous.

With a few long leaps, Billy landed next to Machiavelli, his back curving as he bent down to take a closer look at the man’s face. 

“Nic, hellooo? Anyone there?” he asked. Gently, he grabbed a hold of the shoulder and shook. No reaction, but when checked, the pulse was relatively normal if a tad rapid for his liking. This was not a first time he had found the magician unconscious after an experiment, but the bloody cut at his forehead was alarming when compined with fainting. He himself had suffered enough concussions to know that they were no laughing matter. And even if the Italian was the hard-headed sort, it was always a concern when there was no reaction to touches and voices.

He’d have to move Machiavelli, and with Niccolò having such a lean figure, the task wasn’t too difficult for the cowboy to perform. After all, he had done this before. This was one of the reasons he had demanded that they build a spare bedroom in the basement, so that in cases like these, he wouldn’t have to carry the older man all the way to upstairs. The door was always kept unlocked. The distance between the two was not too long, and it’d take him only few minutes to get there.

With a bit of effort Billy was able to lift and drag his lover across the room to the small, if dusty, bedchamber. There were a single bed set into the far corner and it didn’t take too much of a stretch to haul the limp body to the silky beddings.

“You know, we could switch parts every once in a while, Mac. My poor backbone can only take so much y’know”, he said jokinly to the numb man. “But then again, with your arm strength I might still have to hoist myself up and into this miserable nest of dust. Speaking of which, I’mma go and grab a mob and maybe couple rags to clean this place with, you just stay put and take care of that head of yours. Although we might have to call for an ambulance if you don’t wake up real soon.”

Casting one final look at the bed, Billy sprinted upstairs and snatched his phone from the desk. It would be a wise to call right now, but he knew how much Machiavelli despised hospitals, and if it could be avoided, he would not go. Billy could respect that, he wasn’t a fan of the needles either, and the thought of someone taking him in without his consent was horrifying. But if it  _ did _ turn out to be a head injury...

They had been through a lot together. No one could deny that. Even after the twins, Flamels and Alcatraz, they’d worked their way out of the dangers and build a life far from the ones they had led until then, and it had been peaceful. Still, sometimes Billy found himself wondering if Niccolò secretly missed the old days, being free and alone, able to do whatever his heart desired and not have to take into the consideration other opinions or variables. He wouldn’t admit it, but when he saw the older man pacing inside of the livingroom or locking himself into the library with nothing but his books and parchaments, Billy’s mind wandered towards the thoughts of leaving. He could just leave. He had done that before, more times than he cared to count, but this time something was holding him back. At first he had imagined it was the magic, the power of Machiavelli’s aura and the possibilities he could gain by staying and studying with him. That had been his plan at first, but somewhere along the way the objective of his stay had changed. Now it was more about the man in front of him, not the knowledge hidden inside of those complex, cunning brains, but the fact that he’d grown customed to the other’s company. Their corny jokes, playful bantering and late night talks they indulged when neither one of them was able to fall asleep. 

He couldn’t walk away from that. Not anymore. At some point, he had began to lov-

“Billy, downstair! Now!”

A heavy sigh of relief escaped from him when the irritated tone rang from the basement. Thank god, the ambulance was clearly not needed if the booming voice was anything to go by. No one with a serious injury in their head could yell like that.

Tucking his phone into his hip pocket, he ran back down, managing to only slip once before coming to a stop before the bedroom. He pushed the door open and was greeted with a notebook flunged at his direction. He stepped aside, his polished reflexes allowing him to dodge with an ease, and turned to glare at the angry man sitting on top of the bed.

“I don’t know about Italy, but where I am from, we usually thank each other with hugs and words, not notebooks and frowns!”

“You interrupted an important experiment, you nitwit! I prepared that for days, and now you have thrown all my hard work into the sewer”, the Italian muttered, hand fisted into the sheets. “I had everything under control.”

“Under control? You'd smacked your face into the table, had a steaming mug full of some devilish drink, and were unconscious when I found you! What part, exactly, did you have under control?”

“That is - I mean... I was aware of the risks when I started the spell...” the magician said, wiping his aching forehead with his free hand. “I was certain the procedure would work.”

At that, Billy’s eyes narrowed. “What procedure are you talking about?” He kneeled beside the bed, fixing his sharp gaze to Machiavelli. “What were you trying to do?”

The magician dropped his eyes, and licked his lower lip. 

Billy leaned closer and put his hand to the other one’s knee. “Niccolò.  _ What. Were. You. Trying. To. Do?” _

Machiavelli lowered his head into his palms and exhaled. “It is a removal spell. It can... ‘erase’ certain part of human nature when done correctly. I was trying to -” he swallowed, “to erase the dark magic from my aura. It has been there since the moment I came aware of it, and I believe the smell of a serpent and the greyish color of it are partly due to the fact that my magic seems to be revolwing around the darker sides of beings, the sins and the bad deeds I have committed myself in the past. I was hoping to clean it in a way, to make it so that I would be more deserving of your affections...”

Silence fell between them, neither one making a move to break it. A clock on the wall clicked onwards, but time seemed to stand still as they just sat side by side, other one on his knees and the other on the soft bed.

After what felt like an eternity, Billy finally lifted his gaze and patted the knee under his hand tenderly. “You silly, foolish yet brilliant man.” He took the black-stained hands into his own, squeezing them firmly. “Sometimes I ponder why people say I am the reckless one.”

A small sob could be heard, but Billy acted as if he hadn’t noticed. With a smooth motion he stood up and pressed his lips against the chapped, dry ones. 

“There is nothing for you to earn. You’ve had it since the day you carried me off from that dreadful island.”

**Author's Note:**

> Do point out any mistakes. I crave them. I live off of them.


End file.
